


Things that should be but aren't

by Velociraptor_Hands



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Alternate Universe - Priests, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Space, Armor Kink, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rimming, Underage - Freeform, incubus, kind of, of a sort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velociraptor_Hands/pseuds/Velociraptor_Hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of AU ficlets from my <a href="http://velociraptor-hands.tumblr.com/tagged/Fic">tumblr</a> that are not long enough to justify posting on their own.  I will update the summary and warnings as I add things.</p><p>Chapter 1 - Proper Cultivation - Hiddlesworth - Lord/Gardener AU<br/>Chapter 2 - Manufactured Consent - Idris/Tom, Hiddlesworth, Implied Idris/Chris - Space & Androids AU<br/>Chapter 3 - Hunger Pangs - Hiddlesworth (Unrequited) - Homeless AU<br/>Chapter 4 - Hiddlesworth Harry Potter AU<br/>Chapter 5 - Hiddlesworth Alpha/Omega AU<br/>Chapter 6 - And may the devil do what he can - Hiddlesworth - Incubus/Priest AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Proper Cultivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is the son of an English noble. Chris is their gardener. Tom frequently orders Chris to tend to him, not just the plants.
> 
>  **Warning:** Rimming

Tom likes it when Chris fucks him still smelling of sweat, enough dirt clinging to his hands that it leaves a trail from Tom’s throat down his chest to just above his immaculate breeches.  Tom always stops Chris before he touches the expensive material of his tailored outfits. Bruises and marks are easy to hide from everyone but his loyal valet; dirty, torn clothing is an altogether different matter.  
  
Both naked now, Chris inhales the perfume of Tom’s hair, pulling him tightly against his chest to continue where they left off.  Chris has a musky, loamy scent that Tom’s flaring nostrils can’t get enough of.  He tries to turn around and bury his face in that thick sun-darkened neck but Chris, like any competent gardener, knows how to wrangle nature into submission and Tom is no exception.  ”You need to be on your front for this, My Lord.” He presses hard against Tom’s back, forcing him belly down on the high canopied bed. “Unless you’d rather I use my fingers.”  
  
Tom’s mind stutters for a moment at the thought of those filthy fingers leaving marks on the inside of his pale thighs, parting his cheeks and teasing his hole.  He wants it, but right now he wants Chris’s equally filthy tongue more.  ”No, Hemsworth, I haven’t changed my mind.  Are you questioning my orders?”  
  
Chris laughs low and soft, tickling the downy hairs along the ridge of Tom’s spine, “I would never question you, My Lord.” He stretches a hand up to pet and dirty Tom’s perfect curls as he spreads the cleft of Tom’s ass with the other.  ”I am always My Lord’s most obedient servant.”  
  
Tom would have snapped some reprimand at him for his insubordinate tone but then Chris’s tongue begins the task of licking him open and all he can do is moan into the silk brocade of his duvet.  Like a vine twisting its way between brick and mortar, Chris pulls Tom apart with each slow centimeter that works its way inside him.  He feels himself unfurling under the sunburst stabs of heat from that tongue and knows it won’t be long before he is begging for Chris to go deeper and fill him to the brim.  Tom wants to take all of Chris’s seed and hoard it inside of his ripe body, but for now he is content to trust his gardener’s judgement on the right time to reap what he has sown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something short and sweet I wrote the other day for [thorlokid](http://thorlokid.tumblr.com/) based on a conversation we had about [this](http://thorlokid.tumblr.com/post/36305062746) picture of Tom.
> 
> Can also be read on my [tumblr](http://velociraptor-hands.tumblr.com/post/36443810531/proper-cultivation-hiddlesworth-au).


	2. Manufactured Consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom had been a gift from Idris to his partner Chris, but ever since Chris had been deployed to Sector MI-DG8 two cycles prior Idris had found much use for their perbot.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Dub-con, Armor kink, Rough sex, Human/Robot sex

Each carbonite plate of Idris’s bioarmor would rub coldly and catch against Tom’s skin, often times leaving little nicks and cuts along his chest and belly where Idris would pin him to the bed or wall.   Tom would splay his long legs out to the sides, welcoming the bite of the armor as it pressed against his nude body, nothing to protect him from the pinch of the hard mecha wear.  In these moments he was fragile and it seemed to spur Idris on to treat him rougher, to push the limits of his soft exterior, to find the steel that lay beneath Tom’s pleasing, supple, lab-grown flesh.  
  
Tom had been a gift from Idris to his partner Chris, but ever since Chris had been deployed to Sector MI-DG8 two cycles prior Idris had found much use for their perbot.  He had even upgraded Tom with a few new settings, including one that Tom’s unchanged core found both fascinating and repellent.   It was an elegant piece of programming that left Tom isolated within himself while still aware and participating in what Idris wanted.   His response to painful stimuli was tweaked to find moderate levels pleasurable, leaving him gasping in a way that made Idris’s pupil’s expand to a width Tom normally did not observe during his service of him.  While in the moment Tom was desperate for whatever Idris gave him; it was afterwards, when the setting was switched off, that he could review his memory and wonder at his reactions.   
  
Tom supposed he should feel grateful, as much as he was able to, for Idris’s consideration.  He knew of others like him whose owners cared little for the “feelings” of their perbots.  Chris was unusual in that he regarded Tom as, if not quite human, then at least on the level of a beloved pet.  Idris had always seen Tom as the construct he was rather than more than the sum of his parts, though he was never cruel.  He was somewhat detached in their interactions, using Tom as he was meant to be rather than striving for an elusive emotional bond like Chris did.  
  
Tom did prefer Chris to Idris, but he also appreciated Idris’s realistic attitude.   Tom wanted to please, was built for it, and found it easier to be a thing for Idris rather than a lover for Chris. He would perform as he ought and be the hyper-realistic sex toy he was, only occasionally allowing the small, semi-autonomous corner of his programming to plot out a future where he could react as he willed rather than as he was willed to.  
  
In the meantime, Tom’s carbon-ceramic teeth bit his lip and his CPU slowed the response-time of his nanos so that Idris could admire the bruising he left behind. “You’re lovely, Tom,” Idris breathed out, still smelling of oil and burnt ozone from his shift on patrol. “The best thing I ever bought, you are.”  
  
Tom arched his back and rolled his hips up under the unyielding pressure of Idris’s armor, his voice a marvel of modern engineering and, as always, set on  _English – Received Pronunciation_.  “Thank you, sir. I enjoy being yours, too.”  
  
Idris laughed, “I’ll bet you do.  If you things can enjoy anything, I bet you enjoy this.”  He ground down against Tom’s pelvis and Tom was reminded of the first time Idris and Chris had shared him.  Chris had marveled at Tom’s biosynth cock, smoother than a human’s could be. He had turned off Tom’s ability to orgasm, leaving him writhing and begging for its return with each teasing touch.  Idris had watched them from the side for as long as he could stand before pushing Chris off and mashing his forearm against Tom, trapping his cock against his stomach.   Tom had screamed in simulated agony, his current setting not meant for pain greater than love bites or tight grips.   
  
Chris had been mortified and shoved Idris aside, yelling at him that even if he didn’t think Tom could feel, he should still be careful of their new toy.   Idris had apologized, but Tom recognized the calculating look in his eye:  Idris was cataloging variables and possible actions.    
  
Now Tom’s manufactured neurons fired in a completely different way to the same harsh treatment, sending pleasure signals to his CPU that made him moan and his skin flush.  He came with a twitching motion, coating his torso and that of Idris’s armor with simulated organic material. It looked like semen but tasted like nothing, Idris not a fan of the flavor packs like Chris was (strawberry being his favorite).     
  
Idris rolled them over and purred at him, “Clean me up now.  Do a good job and I’ll lower your pleasure threshold before I fuck you.  How’s that sound?”  
  
Regardless of if he enjoyed it or not, flooding power back to those normally closed circuits was good for Tom every once in a while.  Tom nodded his agreement and leaned down to lick himself off the shiny carbonite, noting the aesthetics of the milky white against black.  He finished quickly, Idris not one for lingering, and then begin the task of snapping him out of his armor.  It would be over soon and Idris would allow him to cuddle, finding the programmed need amusing.  Chris found it comforting, but Chris was not here and Tom did not let himself think on the difference.    
  
All that mattered was what his processes informed him to do, what Idris required of him, and what he could control.  Later Tom would close his eyes to renew their moisture and while his body repaired itself he would access that hidden file that all perbots guarded jealously, that his maker never told anyone about, a file labeled “Dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While trying to distract myself from an incredibly stressful week, I found [this](http://velociraptor-hands.tumblr.com/image/37445402090) pic of Idris Elba from the upcoming film _Pacific Rim_. One thing led to another and I ended up writing a little AU ficlet which I may expand upon later.
> 
> Can also be read on my [tumblr](http://velociraptor-hands.tumblr.com/post/37445402090/while-trying-to-distract-myself-from-an-incredibly).


	3. Hunger Pangs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris's pride won't allow him to fill his belly or his heart.

He was always so hungry, but living rough made that inevitable.  At some point the hunger would pass the point of pain and leave him in an almost meditative state.  That was when Chris knew he should swallow his pride if he ever wanted something more substantial in his aching belly.  It wasn’t that the local soup kitchen had ever treated him badly or made him feel inferior for needing their help; in fact they had been a godsend the first few weeks of his homelessness.

 

What kept him away had more to do with his past than his present and took the form of one of the kitchen’s new volunteers, a tall, lean-limbed man with copper curls and the kindest eyes Chris had ever seen: Tom.  

 

They had been classmates and friends at boarding school, the elder Tom taking Chris under his wing and providing the only source of comfort in what could be an incredibly unforgiving environment.  Chris had hero-worshipped him at first until that innocent sentiment gave way under the unstoppable force that was puberty.  Tom had always been beautiful, but as his puppy-soft body gained hard curves and lines of muscle, and his soothing voice took on a depth that gave even the most mundane words a new heat, Chris discovered a lust within himself that could barely be contained.

 

He had pushed Tom away out of fright and disgust with his own unwanted desires.  He let their once tightly knit bond unravel and fray, ignoring the hurt Tom could not hide.  It was selfish and cowardly, Chris could admit now, but as a teen in an all-male boarding school it had seemed like the best way to survive.  And although his literal survival now depended on the generosity of Tom and his fellow volunteers, Chris could not make himself accept it until the hunger had reduced his pride and embarrassment into bitter crumbs.

 

His only consolation, though it stung, was that Tom did not seem to recognize him.  True, Tom had left the school before Chris had endured his final growth spurt, but part of Chris was disappointed his old friend couldn’t see past the new height and (rapidly diminishing) bulk.  He knew he would have recognized Tom even if had grown bald or fat.  But Tom was just as lovely, if not more so, than Chris remembered.  And just as unreachable as before. 

 

As much as Chris’s body craved food, to feed it meant suffering a cruel reminder that his heart would forever go hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can also be found on my [tumblr](http://tmblr.co/ZoucSueoeF7L).


	4. Hiddlesworth Harry Potter AU

Tom was of mixed heritage, his mother was a squib and his father a muggle. But the rest of his Mum’s family were wizards and witches, all proud graduates of Hogwarts with several holding high-ranking positions in the Ministry. Tom would steal his mother’s Gilderoy Lockhart books, mostly to read them again and again, but often just to stare at the author’s picture on the back, his gleaming white teeth flashing at Tom in a way that made his head swim.

The only other celebrity with that effect on him was Chris Hemsworth, the rising star of Australia’s quidditch team. The young beater had made his debut only a year ago but already he was a household name. He too had a bright white smile that made Tom’s toes curl. His uncle had given him a poster of Chris to hang in his bedroom. It had lasted several weeks on the wall at the end of Tom’s bed before his survival instinct and what he feared was early onset carpal tunnel syndrome had driven him to hang it over his headboard where he couldn’t stare at night at Chris’s intense eyes and shiny hair.

Tom was advanced for his age at school, not unheard of for a Ravenclaw. This year he would be in Chris’s Potions class, despite the other boy being two years ahead of him. Tom hoped to have a silvertongue charm ready before the first day of class, just in case he ever had the chance to speak with Chris. It never hurt to be prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little thing I wrote ages ago and forgot to add here. I couldn't get the idea of Chris as a quidditch player out of my head.
> 
> Can also be read on my [tumblr](http://velociraptor-hands.tumblr.com/post/51264702957).


	5. Hiddlesworth Alpha/Omega AU

Tom's in the hall waiting for his turn to be interviewed when it hits him: he feels his face and neck flush, his skin prickles with sweat, his heart beat speeds up until he's panting. But worst, and most damning of all, he feels a slickness between his cheeks and at the tip of his rapidly rising cock.

He is in heat. And only a thin layer of rock sheet and tacky hotel wallpaper away from the alpha he ~~least~~ ~~most~~ least wants to be near in this state. His brain urges him to _LEAVE NOW_ if he intends to keep his dignity and friendship intact, but his traitorous body can't help but take a step closer to the closed door between him and Chris. He takes a shuddering breath, inhaling the familiar musky scent of the other man that trails from beneath the locked door. 

He has to leave. He has to get closer to that heavenly smell. No, he has to GET THE FUCK OUT. But he _needs_ so very badly and Chris's pheromones have always promised so much and the omega in Tom has to know if it will be enough to cure the sudden desperate ache that is consuming him. He is a gaping, greedy void in need of Chris to be whole again, to fill him up until Chris and his scent are all he knows. _And you can trust him_ , is one of his last conscious thoughts.

Before he can fight himself any longer, there is a growl behind the door and the sound of something crashing. The door slams open and Tom realizes that as long as he was within the same building, hell even the same _city_ as Chris, the choice was never his as to how this was going to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did it. I wrote a really short Hiddlesworth AO drabble. I lay the blame for this squarely at the feet of [sexualthorientation](http://sexualthorientation.tumblr.com/) and her [tags](http://sexualthorientation.tumblr.com/post/55688418927/). I hate you. 
> 
> Can also be read on my [tumblr](http://velociraptor-hands.tumblr.com/post/55740823270/well-i-did-it-i-wrote-a-really-short).


	6. And may the devil do what he can

The demon is dressed like the purest little choir boy, eyes wide and innocent, cheeks blushing, completely at odds with the sly, sly words that fall from its perfect pink-lipped mouth. Chris believed him to be a hallucination at first, but that delicate fingered hand feels real enough rubbing against his cock, playing with the skin beneath his priest's collar.

Chris had noticed the new addition to the boys’ choir a few weeks ago, a darling cherub named Tom, and had seen him nightly in his fantasies ever since. He thought his inappropriately lustful admiration for the boy had gone unnoticed until mass this morning, when he caught an unmistakable wink at him from the choir stalls. And now here he is, alone in the chancel with Tom after he had appeared at the close of midnight service. Trapped by the lanky teenager against the altar.

"It's been so entertaining watching you, Father," Tom breathes against his lips, and Chris's title has never sounded less holy, more filthy than it does in that moment.

"You are the most delicious hypocrite I've tasted in ages," the boy continues, and Chris suspects his statement encompasses not centuries but eons. He is frozen with equal parts fear and desire, knowing that to speak or touch would be to acknowledge the reality of this surreal situation.

"You were debating which way you'd rather have me when you gave the sermon earlier: eagerly on my knees opening up your trousers, so cockhungry to have you in my mouth that my fingers fumble with the button; or awed and reluctant, the good boy ashamed of his sinful lust, who needs you to be rough, to take control and teach him what a slut he really is." Tom drops his hands and leans away, his mouth curving up into a bright threat of a smile. "But I see you’ve made your decision."

Before Chris can grasp his meaning, Tom’s expression slides from smug to apprehensive, his body tenses and he casts his eyes down in what looks to be sincere embarrassment. "Please, Father, please help me. These-these sinful thoughts...I need you to cleanse me of them. I want to be good."

Chris finds himself moving again, his arms finally wrapping themselves around the desperate boy in front of him. Later he will tell himself the words he spoke came from the demon that had enthralled him and not the inky dark inside himself. "Shhhh, don't worry my child. You _are_ a good boy, I can see it in you. God wants you to be good for me, to submit your will to mine. To bring me peace and pleasure. You were meant for this, weren't you? Why else would He give you these thoughts, hmm? Why else would he make you such a perfect little slut?"

Chris cradles Tom’s head beneath his chin and softens his voice to a whisper. "Why else would He have given you a cunt that aches to be filled? Our Lord made you just for me, didn't He?"

A little sob drifts up from Tom and his hands come up between them to grip Chris’s shirt. He buries his face against Chris' s chest, as though to hide from what is happening, muffling his answer. Chris can barely hear the breathy words, but they coil around his heart like a collar, biting in and weighing down his soul.

"Yes, Father, meant for you.”

“Good boy.” Chris pets Tom’s hair then presses a soft kiss into the messy curls. Tom shudders and holds him tighter, nuzzling his head against him like a cat to wipe away his tears. The second before Tom raises his face, before the triumphant abyss of his eyes reveals itself to swallow Chris whole, is the last moment Chris will ever remember being in the embrace of God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little ficlet is purely the fault of a certain group of enablers, you know who you are.
> 
> Can also be read on my [tumblr](http://tmblr.co/ZoucSu1traf_w).


End file.
